Monday Rocks and How They Hit You

What a DAY.  Craziness, all 'small business trying to make it in this big bad world' inspired.  I always knew I had the better end of the deal NOT being one of the pilots of this company.  At least I am in very good company, and I'm glad to be there with him.

Between managing bank accounts, trying to figure out what needs to be paid (and what to pay it with?), connecting with a new accountant who actually has our best interests at heart (and cursing the old one who didn't), the IRS and it's "friendly" reminders, and meeting with our insurance agent and renewing our plan which of course will cost more this year, we are DONE. 

DONE I SAY!!! 

Until tomorrow, we are done with that "money stuff".
~.~
We drove by our old purple car today.  I haven't seen it in five years, and I have to say it was still looking pretty cute. 

Derrick pointed it out to me and I had to squeal and say,"Awww!  It's still so pretty!  Why did we ever get rid of it?" 

He glanced over at me like I was crazy.  "It caught on fire.  For no reason.  Remember?" 

Oh yeah, that's what happened to that car. That's why we sold it.

Still a cute car though.

Preeclampsia and The Very Little Baby

During my 26-week prenatal doctor appointment, I found out I’d developed severe preeclampsia. I had tell-tale protein in my urine, my blood pressure was through the roof, and I’d gained a huge amount of weight freakishly fast. It was an acknowledgment for what I’d known for awhile: something was WRONG.

I was sent home on bed rest but the following Monday my blood pressure was higher than before, so they decided to admit me. I assumed I’d be in the hospital for a couple days; they’d get my blood pressure under control and then I’d go home for the rest of the pregnancy.

I was put on a magnesium drip as soon as I settled into my hospital room. The magnesium made me very relaxed and warm. Everyone else was buzzing around me, scared, but I was A-OK. Derrick showed up, scared, confused and tired. This had been a hard pregnancy from the beginning.

Both of our families were in and out of the room. Between the magnesium drip, the company, and the relief of not working, I was feeling better than I had in months. I wasn’t opposed to the idea of just staying in that room for the next three months if I needed to.

That wasn’t going to happen.

The blood tests the doctor ordered showed that my condition was getting worse. The doctor kept saying something about worrisome “leaky vessels.” I was developing something called HELLP Syndrome, which was causing my liver enzymes to skyrocket. The small capillaries within my kidneys were leaking. The danger of liver failure, seizure and coma were very real.

No one told me what all of this meant because worry was the last thing I needed. Not that I could have been bothered to worry; I was still all rainbows and butterflies on my magnesium drip. Even after my sister told me to prepare myself, I didn’t understand the magnitude of the problems.

~.~

September 28th was a Thursday morning. The doctor came in and announced it was time to have a baby, as continuing the pregnancy would be too dangerous for both myself and my baby. I was only 27 weeks along- three full months too early.

Right before going in to surgery.

They wheeled me into the operating room. Derrick stood up by my head, holding my hand. They wheeled me into the operating room for the c-section. Derrick stood up by my head, holding my hand, while I felt tugging and pulling for only a few minutes. One minute the little baby was inside my belly, the next minute I heard a teeny tiny cry. It sounded like a kitten.

All of the action was then diverted to a different part of the room as the NICU staff went to work saving my baby.

They sewed me up and as they started to wheel me out of the room, they paused briefly so I could look over at the baby laying under the bright lamp on the table. He weighed in at 1 pound and 10 ounces. He was bright red – his skin looked too undeveloped to have color, like it was transparent to the organs underneath. He didn’t look real. The amounts of magnesium in my body made me feel extremely detached, like this was all happening to someone else; this was some other girl and her baby.

They wheeled me back out of the room. I didn’t see him again for another four days. His daddy and grandparents saw him a lot those days (His Auntie Renae tried to slip into the NICU too, but got caught. Only parents and grandparents were allowed in there). He was hooked up to a lot of machinery, and struggling to breathe, but he WAS breathing.

They took me off of the magnesium and eased off the pain medication. By removing my baby from my body, I was out of harm’s way and on the mend. Now it was time to help him heal, too.

When I was finally able to walk from my room to the NICU to see my baby, they led me over to his tiny bed where he laid on a sheepskin blanket, tubes coming in and out of him to help him breathe. His color was better – not as red. He was wearing a diaper the size of a panty liner and it completely engulfed him. I pulled the hat he was wearing gently away from his head to look at his teeny ears. They were completely flat against his head, like they’d not had time to curl up into regular ears yet. He didn’t even have nipples yet. He just wasn’t done cooking.

First Trip to the NICU

After that I was in the NICU constantly watching him or gently laying my fingers on his back. I needed to touch him, but I was warned by the NICU nurse not to stroke him because his undeveloped nervous system couldn’t handle the stimulation. So I just held my hand across his back gently and felt the rise and fall of his lungs gasping for air.

Eventually, we were able to hold him. We’d hold him skin on skin against our chests (it’s called “kangerooing”), careful not to move too much. Even though he was still struggling to breathe, we were told it was more dangerous for him to lay there and not be held – even babies that premature need to feel human connection and love.

We named him Derrin, after my brother whom I’d lost when I was 8. It was the most special name I could have given him.

The day I was discharged was bittersweet – it was nice to get out of the hospital and sleep in my own bed, but it felt horrible to leave Derrin there.

I pumped milk frantically because it was the best nutrition he could have, but the results were seriously pathetic. I worked for HOURS to get minuscule amounts of milk. I’d bring it into the NICU, write our name on the little baggy, and put it in the freezer with the gallons of milk the other moms were producing.

I was put on medication to help me produce more and got in contact with the Le Leche League folks who gave me lots of advice. They set me up with a top of the line, grade-A breast pump but, still, I could only produce thimble-fulls. I kept at it, pumping those thimble fulls, supplementing with formula when necessary. I was sad I couldn’t produce more, but what I gave him made me feel connected to Derrin; a little more like I was his mom. While the nurses did the lion’s share of keeping him alive, I was the only one who could bring thimbles of real mommy milk.

First Bath

There were good days where he’d do really well…and there were other days where his whole chest would almost collapse while trying to breathe. Those days I felt helpless.

The nurses noticed that even though he was the smallest baby there, he was also one of the most stubborn. They’d arrange him just so, his body positioned perfectly to help him breathe, but he wiggled and rearranged himself. That little dash of stubbornness amused and comforted me; it was one more thing to help him pull through this.

He’d open his little eyes when we were there, whenever he heard our voices. His grandparents, daddy and I all read to him whenever we went to visit. We all held him close to our skin and rocked him while holding oxygen to his little face.

Gramma Patsy and Derrin

 For the most part, we had a happy little routine for that first month. He steadily gained weight, his breathing became less of a struggle, and nothing majorly wrong happened. I realized we were very fortunate, as I saw a lot of other babies in the NICU undergo surgeries and have scary things happen. I attended the funeral of one little baby, and we all just held our breath and prayed for the best.

~.~

I had the whole “why did this have to happen to US?” moment when one of my friends who’d been due two months before me came in to have her baby. She had a perfectly happy delivery and brought her baby home right away. It’s not that I bemoaned her happy delivery; it just hit home that what had happened with us was just so far away from the joyous event it could have been.

~.~

I took many pictures of Derrin. Since I couldn’t take him home to show him off I carried pictures everywhere. When he was two months old, I took some pictures and developed them right away. When they came back, I realized his skin looked very yellow. I hadn’t noticed that when I had been in the NICU.

I went back to the hospital, and the neonatal doctor was by his side, checking him out. They’d run blood tests and discovered that he had CMV (cytomegalovirus), which was causing jaundice. He could have contracted it from me during birth or from my breast milk (aw, sweet irony). CMV is very dangerous for preemies, potentially causing neurological and developmental problems, deafness and blindness. It was also very contagious, so he was moved out of the NICU and up to the third floor where he had his very own NICU nurse with him at all times.

The move actually made it a lot easier for me for be able to stay with him. I had stayed several times in spare rooms they kept for NICU moms, but now I could actually sleep in the same room with him.

His jaundice was under control fairly quickly, and he just kept trucking along. I quit trying to pump around that time, which was emotionally hard; my milk production had never really kicked in. Pumping isn’t that effective at spurring prolactin production which helps the milk to flow, and my poor little baby was still too undeveloped to have a suck reflex.

Auntie Nae and Grampa Billy

He had to gain more weight and learn to drink from a bottle. He got most of his formula from a little tube that went up his nose and down into his tummy until we found that if we held him just so and had a plastic bottle, we could squeeze streams of formula into his mouth and coax him to swallow. We did that for a week and HE PUT ON WEIGHT! We were thrilled!

Finally, they gave us the go-ahead to bring him home. It was December 28th – his original due date – exactly three months after he’d been born. It was also one of the happiest days of my life.

Feeding Tube

Unhappy about the Car Seat
But GOING HOME!!!

Bringing him home was also very scary. He’d had TEAMS of people keeping him alive for the last three months, and now they were just going to send him home with US? What were they thinking? But we did it!! His daddy and I took turns, waking up every three hours to feed him the thick, extra-calorie formula. Our poor little guy would throw it back up more often than not, and we’d start all over again. Derrick and I were walking zombies for quite awhile.

I had to take him to neurological testing and also eye and ear testing for the next two years because of the CMV virus and prematurity, but he quickly caught up to other babies born the same month as him and he always tested very high on the tests. He is one smart boy.

Now he is ten. NOW when I think about everything that could have happened my heart stops. You would never even guess that he was a micro-preemie by looking at him. He  is SO good with other people- serious social skills. I am always in awe when I watch him with other people. He genuinely just loves them. We have a theory that it's because he was exposed to so many people right from birth. He’s the healthiest person in our family; he loves to read, he’s in advanced math, and with some encouragement, he gets great grades.

He is the kind of kid who will wake up early and make his mommy the perfect cup of coffee just to be sweet. I am so BLESSED to have Derrin in my life.

I was able to stay home with both Derrin and his little sister when she was born.  All of those worries that we couldn't make it financially if I wasn't working just weren't true for us.  We figured out a way to make it possible, and even though being a stay-at-home mom of two small children was the hardest job I ever had, those years I was able to do it are some of the happiest of my life. 

                                                ~.~

My Baby Boy- Age 10

I think about the dream that Derrick and I had in the beginning, and of course we'd still love to travel the world some day, but the life we have with our kids is so much better than any dream we ever could have imagined.   Of course we've had our ups and some pretty hard downs, but I wouldn't trade it.

~.~

I know not all moms and their preemies are as fortunate, but I like tell Derrin’s story to new moms who are going through this scary situation because in our worst moments, it helped to hear positive outcomes of those who had been through it before me.

When we first had Derrin, one of the NICU nurses told us that someday this would all seem like a dream from a long time ago.

She was right.

"Paradise" Past

Paradise Past

"Many people think they are thinking when they are merely rearranging their prejudices."~William James


"It isn't what they say about you, it's what they whisper."~Errol Flynn


“Some people brighten a room by entering it; others, by leaving it.” Lynn Rios

Part of why I feel so verbally congested is that there is so much I'd love to scream out to the world, to just blast it out there, and yet to put it out there is to open myself up to another world of hurt. I am beyond frustrated with a world that is willing to judge me based on preconceptions rather than looking deeper into a history that should scream to truth to everyone.

I've heard comments made about how sad it is that people are so quick to criticize others with addiction problems. I have a very big problem when people say things like that. The people I know who may "criticize" someone with an addiction, are very rarely "quick" to do so. Most the time if you have had someone with an addiction in your life, you have fought for that person for YEARS. You have been through their ups, praying that they can hold it together this time, only to come crashing down with them. You have begged for them to make different choices, you have tried to love them through it, to believe in them and hold their hand. You have lent them money, you have let them live with you, talked your own employer to give them a chance only to later feel completely used and embarrassed. You have watched them lie to your parents over and over, saying anything to get more money out of them even when your parents are on a fixed income and barely able to make it anyways. You have watched your mother worry for years, the stress making her sick. And then you get to watch the person with the addiction sit back and blame everyone else for how crappy his life is. It is now YOUR fault, because you had the audacity to finally say enough is enough.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.

A lifetime of these people with addictions and zero personal responsibility causing myself and all the people I love pain, destroying themselves and anyone near them, and yes, I am done. I don't care if people think I am self-righteous and judgemental. If anyone is more interested in listening to the addicted person's 'wha wha' story instead of looking at the trail of destruction BLAZING behind that person, then I don't need that person in my life either.

Just know this: The people who came before you in the addict's life DID care. They did all they could to save the person you think you will be able to save with your love. But the problem was never that there wasn't enough love in the addicted ones life, it was that he loved his addiction more than he loved the people who loved him.

The truth is, I have had to make choices in my own life about addictions too. I could have chose to self-medicate my life away. I could have decided to live a life completely against everything my parents ever told me was important and true. I could have done things that made my mom cry and then drank until I didn't feel guilty about it anymore. And it did take me awhile to point my finger at myself and make the changes I needed to make to not let that poison infect my life like I'd seen it infect others.


Life is nothing but a string of choices.

Well, then addiction is a disease, right? No one chooses to get a disease. No one chooses to get diabetes either. But what about the choice to sit there and eat sugar until you die? You have to choose to live. You choose to not eat the sugar. And at least the sugar doesn't make you use and hurt everyone in your life so much that eventually there is nothing left.

This world believes in something called "tough love". I've been part of a family with issues of alcoholism for so long, words like "co-dependency" and "enabling" are completely understood. The only thing that ever protected my family from the the pull of enabling our addicted members was being part of an organization that practiced tough love when it got to the point where the addiction was so out there (DUI's in the newspaper, outlandish behavior) that it had to be addressed. Even then, help was extended first. Help has always been extended, from friends, family, all hands reached out with help. But what do you do when the addiction means more than all the love and help in the world? You protect yourself. Finally, you protect yourself.

When the addicted goes off and starts another life with a new host to feed the addiction, but keeps the addiction, do you quit protecting yourself? No. A lifetime of experience says NO. As long as the addiction is active, it's like poison just waiting to infect you and your life.

I am angry. I am hurt that people who should have the brains to ask me really important questions, haven't. People should be able to look at my sister and I, and see how much we love our parents, and that we have always and will always do anything we can to help them. We respect them. We cared for Mom all through her darkest years, and we fought for her with every single ounce of love we carry for her in our hearts. She was our best friend, a huge and essential part of our lives. Everything that ever hurt her, hurt us too.

Sometimes I think it may have hurt us more- it's a hard thing to watch someone you love get hurt repeatedly by the same person or people. It builds up in a person. To see a person you love hurt, and disrespected is almost unbearable, but when you have addicts hanging around, you get to experience it over and over. I am unwilling and unable to act as if there is no damage and that what has happened never really happened.

I am done.

In Tangles

Once upon a time there was a wife (we'll call her... Ann) and a husband (we'll call him Dan). They had a couple of children, one of whom was a boy named FrickoSan (he's not a big part of this particular story, as his hair is short and manageable... but now that I think about it, the time his parents spent on his sister's hair really did take away time spent with him) and a little girl (and her name.... Jan) who had beautiful long hair. Ann's mother (um.... Fran?) was the one who cared for Jan's hair, daily combing it and making long, manageable braids out of it. For years the girl's hair grew longer and longer, but thankfully Gramma Fran was there to keep it in order. Her momma Ann knew some of the basics- she knew how to run a brush through it now and again.  Mostly Ann just kept it from becoming a huge snarl; Gramma Fran was the true hair management.

One day, Gramma Fran decided that she was going to open a hair salon of her own, and she no longer had the time it took to untangled and manage Jan's super long hair. Ann thought that would be fine, because she knew the basics of brushing hair. For months, Ann would pull her brush through that long hair, but she had a lot of other things going on in her life that needed managing too.  Poor Jan's hair became more and more tangled, until finally it was just a giant knot on her head. The hair was too long to manage without the skilled hands of her Gramma, and Ann just didn't have the time to keep it under control.

Things started looking bleaker and bleaker. Ann didn't know what she was going to do about her daughter's hair. It had such potential for being beautiful, but it had gotten so tangled that it was going to take forever to get brushed out and in order again. Ann was torn between longing to have it brushed out (but by whom?) or just shaving it all off... but was shaving her daughter bald really the answer?

Her husband Dan would listen to her worry at night about what a mess the girl's hair had gotten in to. Dan wasn't too worried. He'd seen his wife brush the girl's hair many times throughout the years, and she always seemed to eventually get all of the tangles out. But one day he looked at his daughter and actually understood what his wife had been saying- if things got much worse, his poor daughter would definitely need to have her once beautiful hair shorn off.

Dan had never once brushed his daughter's hair, but he wanted to help. He didn't really think through this situation before he decided he was definitely the one who should save the day. If he would have made a list of some reasons why he was not qualified to be the hero of the situation, it would have looked something like:

•  Hadn't even brushed his own hair in years, ever since Ann decided she was better at it and would do it for him.
• Had only ever watched styling of Jan's hair from a safe hazy distance, never actually attempting to do any brushing or styling of it himself. 

Dan wasn't one to really sit down and think through a situation like that though, so he didn't. Plus, Dan really liked to impress his wife with his versatility and usefulness. They would save the day together. Or so he thought.

Gramma Fran came for a day to give Dan a crash course in french braidery, coiffery, bunnery, de-tanglery, deep conditionery, transfering braided sections from one side of her head to the other, and she also showed him where she stored all of the many styling aids needed for care of such long hair. It took the whole day, but when Gramma Fran left, Jan's hair looked beautiful.  Dan felt confident that he had the situation firm in hand. 

Later that night, Ann called for Dan to ask him about some new tangles that had just formed in little Jan's hair.  Dan was baffled- how could there already be tangles?  But he didn't worry too much; he was practically a professional after the time Gramma Fran had spent teaching him her hair moves. Plus it was the weekend, and a few tangles could certainly wait until Monday, so he didn't think much more about it for the next couple of days.

That Monday he grabbed his brush and really looked at Jan's hair closely for the first time in two days.  The mass of snarls looked almost as bad as it had before Gramma Fran had done her magic to it.  He gingerly tried to run his brush through it, but it seemed as though he was making it even worse. 

Dan's heart began to race, and a thought suddenly became very clear to him:  I don't know what I am doing!  What have I gotten myself into???

 ~The End~

Reconciled

So... I'm officially going to be working as book-keeper and Awesome-Helper-Extraordinaire(or AHE- I think I will keep that as my official title) for Derrick's business.  My new position started yesterday, and so far we've managed to handle some interesting tax issues AND all of the balances in Quickbooks are up to date (with Kathrine's help).  I will be taking some Quickbook classes SOON.  Numbers are not my thing exactly, but I did feel a rush of accomplishment when everything finally balanced. 

My new schedule is going to be working as AHE in the morning after the kids go to school, and then on to my other job.  Since I've always used morning for running, and I will for sure deteriorate into a steaming pile of wimpy moo without running, I'm going to have to man-up and run in the evenings.  I have to have faith that even though running in the evenings is really hard for me, I will still make myself do it... 

So, it is what it is.  Change is inevitable.  It always comes down to that, doesn't it?  Oh-well, enough change, and you quit fighting it so hard and learn to roll with the punches.

One Room

This was a hard weekend. I'm borderline between being glad that we went ahead and attempted it (and succeeded with at least their bedroom), and thinking we did it too soon for our own good. My body feels like it weighs a million pounds. It wants to crawl into bed and sleep for the next six months.

I just unpacked everything- didn't want to start off this week with unpacked bags everywhere again. I didn't really bring home a lot of things from Mom's, but the things I did bring are all special. One of the most special things is an old jewelry box that she always had on her dresser when I was a kid. Wish I knew the story behind it- it's been old and tattered looking as long as I can remember. It used to be a music box at some point, but it's broke. If you turn the mechanism in back manually you get a haunted version of "Memories". I used to spend a lot of time on Mom's bed searching through the treasures she had in there- all old vintage 50's stuff, some false teeth that belonged to her grandpa, old watches, and old pictures tucked behind a little mirror on the inside of the lid of her four older kids, her sisters and my Dad. I didn't keep the teeth in there (although I sort of regret it now- they were really fascinating as kid), but there is a small selection of necklaces, rings and earrings in there that I will always remember her wearing. There is a Black Hills Ring in there that she wore the whole time I was growing up... reminds me of my mom in the 90's.

For clothes, I brought home a lot of socks (mostly just being practical there- I hate having cold feet as much as she did), a soft fuzzy warm robe, and some scarves that smell like her. I have her patchouli perfume and oil too, but it may be awhile before I will be able to wear those.

I don't think we will be doing anymore of this until next spring. I do want to try to get down to Dad's more though- it was very comforting to see him, Renae, Steph, Cookie and Nancy- we need each other. It was good for Aiyana and Kloe and Derrin to play together. We need to start making new memories there. It was also really great to see my friends at the meeting in Thompson Falls. Now for some sleep- unfortunately not the six months I'd like, but at least eight hours before getting up and starting another work week.

Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you...

Wherever you go, no matter what the weather, always bring your own sunshine. ~Anthony J. D'Angelo, The College Blue Book

Happiness is an attitude. We either make ourselves miserable, or happy and strong. The amount of work is the same. ~Francesca Reigler

Every thought is a seed. If you plant crab apples, don't count on harvesting Golden Delicious. ~Bill Meyer

We plant seeds that will flower as results in our lives, so best to remove the weeds of anger, avarice, envy and doubt... ~Dorothy Day

Physical strength is measured by what we can carry; spiritual by what we can bear. ~Author Unknown

Positive anything is better than negative thinking. ~Elbert Hubbard

I am sure that nothing has such a decisive influence upon a man's course as his personal appearance, and not so much his appearance as his belief in its attractiveness or unattractiveness. ~Leo Tolstoy

A loving person lives in a loving world. A hostile person lives in a hostile world; everyone you meet is your mirror. ~Ken Keyes, Jr.

Anywhere you go liking everyone, everyone will be likeable. ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966

Some days there won't be a song in your heart. Sing anyway. ~Emory Austin

Ode to Moodiness

I ran for the first time in a week this morning. It was the first time outside for the last two weeks. I had to MAKE myself go... with a lot of prodding from Derrick. I wanted to lay down on the couch, or putter around the house in slow motion instead. Scary, how fast progress goes away. It wasn't that the run itself was that much more difficult (although I did go at a slower pace), it was the wanting to run that suffered. I know a lot of it has to do with the fact that it is the 23rd of the month. I can be guaranteed at least ten days of negative thinking a month, if not more. But it feels worse this month. My carousel is riding much lower than usual. Every regret of the past, every person I may have insulted or hurt, every thing I may have written that could have been damaging is flying into my brain at the same moment. Things I have found a measure of peace with are back and kicking me in the stomach. Wrong self-injurious thoughts, and a tasteless self-pity. Worry over things I can't change are knocking on my door. I am 34 years old! I'm supposed to be over this crap by now, or at least I should have figured out some way to control this!
I went to meeting last night and felt like I was both in a fog, and yet twitching to get out of there. I looked around at everyone else, and saw that they were all having animated conversations, showing the love to each other that we are supposed to. We just got back from the assembly Monday- driving back I felt so confident that I would be able to really make some big steps forward. I want to do better. I still think in a lot of ways I can do better. But some things feel so out of my control. There are days when I am driving that my heart feels like it is going to jump out of my chest and I am going to start ramming my car into other drivers if they don't get out of my way, and other times when I'm driving in a fog completely unaware of the time. Days when I get to the hall and feel like smiling at everybody and actually have the nerve to approach others, but then times where I'd rather slip on a cloak of invisibility because I feel absolutely empty inside. Sometimes it has to do with hormones. Sometimes I don't know WHY it's one way or the other. All I know is that the little bit of control I have over it is RUNNING. I need to start fighting harder for that little bit of control again. It really has been a couple crazy weeks, but I could have fought harder to run at times that maybe weren't as convenient or easy. Sleeping in an hour and a half longer is not worth feeling this way. It is worth being a little too hot while running during the late part of the day to not feel this way.

Blogging from the Sick One

So this is a blog coming from a still sick mind, and therefore is going to be long and drawn out. My brain and equilibrium (as well as my lungs), seem to have resisted my non-stop good wishes towards wellness. My own wellness, that is. My body is reminding me that in this last year I have abandoned all of my efforts to really take care of it. Vitamins, while living cozily in my cupboards, have not been participating in my body’s health. The gym, while being paid for automatically for months, has not been a participant in making my body have the will to live. I discovered the double stack cheeseburger at Wendy’s a couple months ago, and have indulged (with a guilty side salad) at least two or three times a week for lunch ever since. I started drinking soda again after literally YEARS of abstinence. My attitude about my own health was an unconcerned one.

I’m not really a big bragger. Things I do brag about include: My kids (isn’t that allowed though?), My awesome thrift shopping abilities (I am almost superhuman in this department. No Jokes.), AND, My awesome immune system. Every year when Derrick and the kids get sick, guess who is always the last woman standing? Year after year of this tends to build the old confidence. I admit it, I was smug in my seeming immunity. I have never even had the chicken pox! HELLO! Kloe just had them a couple months ago, and guess who walked away unscathed yet again?

Enter ten days ago (TEN!), it is a Sunday morning, and I am waking up with a pounding headache that is not helped by the fact that I am shivering uncontrollably. I am in denial that anything serious is going on. I even manage to eventually shower and pull myself together to go to the hospital later when my friend’s have an accident (everything turned out okay there), but I am careful not to breathe on anyone just in case. The next day Derrick leaves for an out of town job- he’s not going to be back until FRIDAY. I wake with a fever, a body that is aching and chilled, but I am confident the ol’ immune system is gonna kick in any second. Enter day three. Actually go back a couple hours to the middle of the night as I lay there seeing red spots, having crazy fever dreams while sweating so much that I finally convince my body that it has to get up and change. Twice. It turns out my body’s strength of will is quite a lot stronger than my mind’s when it is sick. It didn’t want to do ANYTHING I told it too. Even if it was the one that wanted something! The next couple days included: Somehow getting the kids off to school (mostly they just got themselves dressed and fed and then patted me on the head as they walked out the door), and then I would lay on the couch curled into a sweaty little ball. My body would tell my mind it was thirsty. My mind would tell my body to get something to drink. My body would say NO WAY because it knew the sheer hell of hurti-freeziness that it would have to pay up front for the drink. But it wouldn’t leave my mind alone about the thirstiness. To quiet the mind and body, I watched hours of House. I watched the same episode over and over because I couldn’t follow the story. I still don’t really know what that episode was about. The kids finally came home from school and Derrin got me something to drink, which I was eternally grateful for. They made sandwiches for dinner.

The next day I hilariously thought I should try to go to work. Kathrine drove me there and picked me back up exactly twenty minutes later. As soon as I hit the couch, it was a repeat of the day before. Thursday was the same. Friday I got super clever and decided to go to work full of Tylenol and Robuttison. Answering phones that day, and trying to inform people about our programs was interesting to say the least. I somehow got disconnected several times… whether I hung up on them or they hung up on me I can’t say.

When I got home I called my sister to cry on her shoulder about how sick I was and about what a horrible day I had just had at work. She stopped me and asked why I was talking so funny. Turns out I was talking much slower than normal. Well, that was just great! I had just spent an entire day at work, answering phones in crazy slow motion voice! I called up my supervisor to tell her how upset I was about working under the influence of cold medicine, but then I hung up on her too. That was it. I gave up at that point.

Derrick came home that night, but he had to leave the very next day to see his brother. He took Derrin with him. Shannon and Phil came and took Kloe home with them (THANK YOU!) so she could actually go outside and play instead of staying inside with nearly dead mommy(sounds like an inaction figure). I lay on the couch in my sweaty little ball, shivering and being thirsty. When it was time to eat, I would take Robuttison and in awhile I could get something (in slow motion). Anyways, you get the picture. Sunday came and went, and I still had a fever. Monday a new symptom arrived in the form of the inability to breathe. By that time Derrick was home, and he made an appointment with the doctor. Even though she really helped, and it was the turning point for the good, her breathing treatment nearly knocked me off the rest of the way. On the way home I lay in the passenger side gasping for breath, and not being able to get any air at ALL. It was seriously scary! He took me home to his mom, who made sure I took my medicine all day long (every half hour), PLUS she gave me all the juice and water I could drink. This was the healing day.

That whole night I heard the death rattle in my lungs, and I knew it would only get worse and worse until I gave into the need to cough. I would fight as long as possible, but it was inevitable. I have to say my abs feel firmer than they have in years.

Yesterday I called in sick again, and laid on the couch, but it was getting better. By night I was able to take Derrin to his guitar lesson, although he told me that I looked sick and he wanted Gramma to take him. Ah, little boys don’t know the magic of make-up (to hide the dead skin look), cute hats (to hide the flat, haven’t fixed in a week hair), and big sweaters (to hide the shivering). The point is, I was TIRED of being sick, and enough was enough.

I went to work today. Even though I am not 100% (I still am on this darned couch, not quite up to cleaning the house, or doing the stacks of laundry), it is definitely getting better. I even lost about five pounds, although it could be the bad kind of weight loss that comes from not moving for days at a time. Maybe my appetite will stay minimal for awhile.

Anyways, that is my story about being sick. Take is as a cautionary one. It is telling you to TAKE CARE of yourself and also DON’T BRAG or being overconfident in your body’s ability to stay healthy. If I can leave you (and myself) with any lesson, let it be those.